


Burned Kisses

by HandwithQuill



Series: Burned Kisses [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 15:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1783333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/pseuds/HandwithQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Repeatinglitanies prompt: Belle’s husband, Mr Gold, never fails to kiss Belle’s burn riddled back as a prelude to their night time activities. Belle thinks he has a fetish for burns. In truth, Mr Gold kisses it as it is proof that many years ago, Belle was the young girl who saved his boy from the fire. (prompt wording shortened)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burned Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is un-beta-ed. I should really get around to asking someone :/

Belle slept on her stomach. Had ever since she was eight. She couldn't remember if she had before then, but it was required in the hospital to let her heal. Now, some twenty years later, she only had vague pain-filled memories of that time. 

She remembered walking with her father, them stopping as they came upon a crowd of people standing the old warehouses down by the dock. She remembered jumping and grabbing her father's hand at the loud crack the sounded before flames shot out through the roof.

They stood watching as the fire trucks arrived and she asked her father what the firemen were doing as the stood around and watched as well. She didn't really understand when he said that the firemen would make sure it wouldn't spread, but that sometimes, if the building was old, it was better to let it burn down. 

She continued to watch along with the crowd and gasped when she noticed something. She gripped her Papa's hand tighter and looked over to where the firemen, all in their bulky gear, were leaning against their truck. When they did nothing, she dropped her father's hand and ran. 

She could hear her father calling her name as she ran through the door. The heat made her stumble, it was like when she helped Papa cook and her let her take something out of the oven, only a lot worse. She looked around for what she had seen outside. There, to her right, behind some machinery, was a boy. He was about her age, but she didn't know him. She had seen him playing in the park just yesterday and Ruby told her that her Granny told her that he was visiting his father. She ran to him, hand held out. 

He looked at her hand then down to where his foot was caught in some pipes. The pipes were hot as she tugged on them and she pulled down her sleeves to cover her hands. Between the two of them they got his foot out. When she looked up, the fire was closer to them. There was another cracking sound as they stood. He leaned against her, not putting any wait against him foot, as the hobbled towards the door. There was an even louder crack as two firemen rushed through the door.

After that she only remembered the hospital and pain. 

She had been told later that when the roof collapsed, she had pushed the boy down and covered him with her body. It had taken the firemen half an hour to dig them out. The boy had no injuries but his ankle, she didn't fare so well. Her back, neck and the side of her face was covered in second degree burns from the heat alone, but there was also patches of third degree burns where the burning roofing material came in contact with her skin. 

For months after, she was called a hero. But as the years went by, the reason for the burns on her body meant less then that they were there. Whenever she went out, she could feel the stares. She had already liked reading, but she retreated into book more afterwards. By the time she graduated High School, she had already accepted that the only romance she would ever find would be in her books. Storybrook was small and if none of the boys in her class were able to look past the scars, they never would. The ones that stayed in town would be too small minded, and the ones who went away to collage, well, they had a whole new pool of unblemished girls.

So, she split her time between helping her father in the flower shop and her shifts in the Library and assumed that her life would never change. 

Until four months ago and Mr. Gold showed up at the Library. 

She, and every other resident of Storybrook, knew who Mr. Gold was by reputation. But also like most she had never seen the man who owned eighty percent of the town. He had moved away many years ago and had been reclusive when he had lived in town. He had moved back when she was twenty four, but had resumed his reclusive tendencies, only showing up to collect rent or evict his tenants. 

But then he started showing up during her Wednesday night shifts at the Library. 

At first, he just stared at her as she re-shelved books. She went around the shelves and pulled the tie out of her hair, arranging her hair to cover the left side of her face where the burns were the worst. When she came back, he looked down at the book he held, a frown on his face. He left shortly after. 

The next week he was back. He sat at one of the table, pretending to read, fiddling with is cane from time to time. He wasn't as overt this time, but she could still feel his eyes. It wasn't anything she wasn't use to, but she still took down her hair. He stayed until closing, before leaving without a book.

The third week she contemplated leaving her hair down to begin with, but ending putting it up when it got in the way. She left it that way as by her break, he hadn't shown. She selected a book and slipped into the stack. There was a circle of soft armchairs situated between History and Gardening/Home Improvement. She got comfortable and lost herself in Jane and Mr. Rochester's meeting. It was the light tap of his cane that alerted her that he was approaching. She looked up to see him standing a few steps away. She tilted her head to the left and reached back for her hair tie.

“Don't!” he said quietly before taking the few steps and sitting of the arm of the chair next to her. She watched as he cautiously reached out his hand an cupped her chin. He raised her head up to meet his eyes, before nudging her head to the right. He didn't touch her, but hovered his fingers over her skin as if he was caressing the side of her cheek and down her neck. He pulled away as he brushed against her collar. “Don't,” he said again, “Don't cover them. They are not to be ashamed of. You got them doing what most were too afraid to do. Be proud of them.” 

She swallowed and he fidgeted for a moment before he stood and left. The next Wednesday she hesitated a moment before braiding her hair to the right of her head. He found her on her break again, sitting in the chair and propping his bad leg on the last empty chair. His eyes moved over her scars in a way that unsettled her, but not in the way that most people did. The look in his eyes was different and it made her insides flutter in a strange way. After a few seconds he shook himself and with a deep breath, pulled up his pant leg. He wasn't wearing a sock and she could see lines of scar tissue spider webbing away from his ankle. She looked up at him. 

“It's only fair,” he shrugged and asked her about the book she was reading. The rest of her break was spent debating Anne's rejection of Captain Wentworth.

By the time they moved up to debating weather Marianne or Elinor Dashwood was the better sister, he had started bringing take out from Granny's with him. Two months had past and they were working through a book with different interpretation of Grimm's Fairy tales, before he asked. Her break was over and she was collection their take out containers when she noticed she was still sitting there, fiddling with his cane. He looked up and his bottom lip twitched as he seemed to mouth words that didn't want to escape. Her heart gave one strong pound in her chest at the look in his eyes as she waited for him to speak. Finally, he did.

“May I?” he whispered, his hand raised halfway between them. Slowly she nodded and knelt on the floor in front of him. Again, his fingers hovered over her skin, before so gently she barely felt it, they touched her scars. 

She gasped and braced her hands on the arms of his chair to keep from falling into him.

“Sorry!” he jerked his hand away. She shook her head and reached out and grasped his wrist and returned his hand to her face. It had been so long since anyone had touched her and nobody had every touched her scars. She tilted her head to the side, letting him touch more. She gasped again as he caressed the nape of her neck. “Belle?” He cupped her unburnt cheek and brought her eyes back up to his. “Belle? I-” his mouth worked around words again, “Marry me?”

She blinked.

“I know it's strange and that we barely know each other, but marry me?”

“Yes,” she nodded before she even thought about an answer.

“Thank you,” he breathed, before holding out his hands to help her stand. He stood himself and with one last caress of her scars he left, saying he would come the next day to talk about arrangements.

The wedding was a small affair held the next month in his, their, back yard. Ruby was her Maid of Honor, her father gave her away, Dr. Hopper stood up for him and Granny catered. She wore a simple white dress, with a cardigan and her hair down to cover as much of her as possible with as many people there. But after they traded vows, and the preacher said to kiss the bride, he brought his hand up under her hair and stroked her scars as he cupped her cheeks and pressed a kiss to her lips. 

Later that night, after everyone left, she sat on the bed nervously picking at her nails. Even thought they had spent the last month moving her things over, this would be the first night she would spent here. They had shared a few kisses over the last month, and he had never pressured her for more, but this was her wedding night. So she slipped on the silk neglige that was Ruby's wedding present. It had spaghetti straps and a low back. It was the most skin she could ever remembered showing. Her face and neck didn't have the worst of the scarring and she kept telling herself that he knew was always accepting of her scars and that he wouldn't be repulsed by her back. 

But her stomach was still in knots as he came out of the bathroom. He was only wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and she swallowed as she took in his lean chest. He approached the bed, leaned his cane against one of the side tables, sat and eased his bad leg up on the bed. He patted the bed and she scooted to sit next to him, leaning against the headboard. He took her hand and interlaced their fingers. 

“If you don't want to, nothing has to happen.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to,” she said softly, “It's just-no ones ever wanted me before, so I don't really know what to do, I mean, I just know what's in books.”

“I've always known that this town was full of fools,” he told her, “and that they've let this,” he brought his hand up to caress her nape, “keep them from the most beautiful woman in town just proves it.”

She ducked her head and she shook it.

“You are,” he affirmed. “Inside and out. You are beautiful. And as for this,” he motioned between them, “Experience or lack of doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we listen to each other and find out what we like.” He brought their entwined hands up and kissed the back of her knuckles. Their eyes met again and they leaned in for a kiss. One became two became three became more. When she tentatively touched his bottom lip with her tongue, he pulled her into his lap. They kissed for a while more, him gently guiding her with how to, before his hands ghosted up and down her back.

“Will you let me see?”

She nodded and scooted back down the bed a little. She slid the straps off her shoulders and the let the silk fall to her waist. She closed her eyes and waited. His hand stared at her nape, caressing like he always did. Then his fingers drifted down to the first patch. He circled it, before putting his whole hand over it. She jumped, letting out a hiss, when his other hand came up and rested against one on her lower right. He removed his hand. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she looked over her shoulder at him. “It's just they're a little more sensitive.” 

“Lay on your stomach for me.” She moved to do so, wrapping her arms around a pillow. He moved down the bed and again she waited for his touch. Hesitant fingers brushed against her shoulders. “Where are the worst?”

“The ones that still look angry.” 

“So here?” 

A finger moved around a spot on her left, right under where her bra strap usually lay. “Yes.”

“And here?” The point of her right shoulder blade. She nodded. “Here? And here?” 

Place after place, he found the ones that still pained her. When he identified them all, she expected him to move on, and she started to get nervous again as the bed dipped and he settled his knees on each side of her. He braced his hands on either side of her as well and she tensed, thinking he might be about to lay against her back. Instead she gasped as his lips met her skin. 

She gripped the pillow and bit her lips to muffle her moans as he systemically kissed every patch of burnt skin. The heat of his lip and tongue on the sensitive skin that not even she had ever touch had her writhing under him. He wasn't unaffected. As he moved back up to lave at her nape, she could feel him pressed into her behind.

She arched up into him, causing him to groan against her neck. She chuckled and looked over her shoulder at him. “Do you have a kink for scars?” she joked. He stilled over her, mouth just barely pressing against her. He laid down next to her, a confused look on his face. 

“Belle, you know, right?”

“Know what?” She was starting to worry. He rolled over and reached into the bedside table. When he rolled back he was holding a picture frame. She took it when he held it out to her. She looked at it and frowned. A much younger version of him was in the picture, but so was a boy.  
There was something about the boy, something that seemed familiar. Her eyes shot to him as she realized. 

“I though you knew.” 

She shook her head as she stared down at the picture of the boy she had saved when she was eight. “What...Where...?”

“He lived with his Mother and was just visiting that summer. After the accident Milah said she would never let him come back here, she'd been trying to get me out of his live since the divorce. That's why I moved to New York, to be closer to him. I moved back after he graduated collage. He still lives in the city with his fiancé, Emma, who's heavily pregnant with their first child. Which is why they couldn't come. He can't wait to meet you.”

“Is this why you came to the Library?”

He nodded, “I was never able to thank you. And when I saw the beautiful woman you grew up to be, and I saw the proof of what you did to save my son...” He reached out and ran a finger along her burned neck. She arched her neck and he leaned in to press kisses to it. Lips and tongue were already turning her to mush, but when he gently nip at her scars, she reached her hand up and into his hair.

“Please?” she moaned.

“Yes,” he panted into her neck before scooting back, hands going to her hips, pulling the gown and her underwear off. She sat up as he shucked off his own pants and boxers. He moved back up to lean against the headboard and pulled her into his lap again. They kissed some more and she felt his hand moving up her thighs. She gasped into the kiss when he cupped her, a finger caressing her folds. She whined when it slid between and into her. She gripped his shoulder and let her head fall back.

“That's it,” he whispered into her neck as his finger moved inside her. “That's it, sweetheart.” She whimpered again when he removed it just as she started to move her hips in counterpoint. He chuckled and guided her to raise up on her knees a little. She looked down as he reached between them again. She let out a breath as he placed his tip to her entrance. With another deep breath, she met his eyes and slowly lowered herself onto him. He stopped her a few times, telling her to wait until she was use to the feeling before continuing. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, once she was fully seated in his lap. She nodded but could see he didn't believe her. He cupped her face and placed a kiss on her lips. It felt strange and there was a little discomfort, but is was disappearing to be replaced with a twitching need to move. 

She leaned in to kiss him again, causing her hips to rock forward. It felt good so she did it again, a chaste press of lips and a rock of her hips. Again and again. kiss, rock, kiss, rock. Until she leaned in farther to kiss him and it pulled him out of her a little. As she fell back onto him she let out a 'epp'. Eyes wide she looked at him. He grinned at her as she lifted up a little and did it again. His hands on her hips helped her find a rhythm of rising and falling. When she got the hang of it, he started to move his hips to meet hers. Once they were moving together, he moved a hand to her nape and pulled her in for a kiss as his other went between them and started to stroke her above where they were joined. 

The feeling that was building in her grew stronger with every stroke until it broke over her and she cried out, shuddering above him. She barely felt him grab her hips as his own slammed in to hers a few more times, before he shuddered as well. She felt a warmth fill her as he leaned against him. He gently moved her off him and laid down, pulling her against his side, his hands carefully traversing her back.

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt him press a kiss to her forehead, the heat of his lips made her smile.


End file.
